


The Life of An Earl

by Ercasse



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 20:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ercasse/pseuds/Ercasse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration of the life and times of Ciel Phantomhive and those he meets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Life of An Earl

**Author's Note:**

> Drabble-style :)   
> I wanted to explore the world of one of my favourite animes so that I could 'get into character'. I have a plot bunny that will not leave me alone, and thought one of those word prompt tables would be useful in helping me familiarise myself in order to write the other story.
> 
> 5 of 30 prompts complete. No pairings currently - its marked T as a precaution for the moment. Tags will be updated if necessary.
> 
> Kuroshitsuji is not mine.

**~ Evidence ~**

“There you are, My Lord.”

Ciel freezes as he comes face to face with the shiny buttons on an impeccably crisp tailcoat. Schooling his features into what he hopes is a bland expression, he tilts his neck to meet a ruby red gaze.

“Is something the matter, Sebastian?”

“Why are you in the kitchen?”

“I was looking for Bard.”

“He is likely taking an afternoon nap in his room. Shall I rouse him for you?”

Ciel doesn’t know how to deal with this sudden information.

“You are aware that he takes a nap during the day?”

“Of course, my Lord. A good butler should know what his staff are up to at all times.”

“And it doesn’t _bother you_ that he’s shirking his duty?”

The demon grins down at him craftily.

“Ah, but if he’s in his room I know the kitchen shan’t be destroyed. And you’ll find dinner that much more enjoyable.” There is a slight pause, and red eyes regard him sharply. “That is, if Master still has an appetite for dinner.”

Ciel stifles the urge to squirm under the direct gaze of his butler.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he demands. Ciel has made certain that not a crumb remains about his person for this very reason.

The demon leans down, bringing their faces closer together.

“My Lord has spoiled his appetite by sneaking a slice of the black forest cake, despite my reminder that dinner is only a few scant hours away.”

Ciel sighs loudly. “Did you place some kind of spell on the container?” he wonders.

The smirk widens. “I hardly need do that, bocchan, when the evidence is laid out before me.”

Ciel looks down at his clothes, expecting to find an overlooked speck of the dessert.

“How?” he demands, hoping to learn from his mistake.

A gloved hand taps him on the nose lightly.

“You smell of cherries, liqueur, chocolate and cream.”

 

 

**~ I'm here ~**

Ciel finally wrenches himself from the clutches of the now-familiar nightmare, heart hammering madly in his chest. He registers the feel of a cool hand at his brow and panics – recalling the cruel pairs of hands haunting his dreams. He knocks it away violently and reaches for the small pistol he keeps under one of his pillows. His trembling hand halts as he finally takes note of small details.

The scent of cinnamon and laundry soap; the realisation that the hand at his brow had been gloved; the softly glowing red-violet eyes that regard him in the dark.

“Sebastian.” He breathes, and the fear releases its tight hold on his insides.

“Another bad dream, my Lord?”

A clammy hand runs through slightly damp blue-black hair, and Ciel is irritated at yet another display of weakness around this creature.

“Evidently. May I ask what the hell you were doing looming over my bedside?” Ciel is pleased that his voice comes out strong, and unwavering. As befitting his station.

The demon perched on his bed remains unmoving as a statue. No expression crosses his face as he replies.

“My Lord summoned me. And thus here I am.”

“I did not!”

“My apologies. Perhaps my Lord was simply referring to another ‘Sebastian’ in his dreams? I shall leave you to rest.”

And the realisation hits Ciel. He _had_ been calling out for his demon as his tormentors abused him. Ironic, that the Earl would appoint Sebastian the role of ‘saviour’ when, in the end, Sebastian will be the one to end his existence. The thought should scare him, but…

“Wait.”

“My lord?” the demon halts in his tracks and regards Ciel from over a black-clad shoulder.

“…That book you were reading earlier…”

“Young Master is referring to Hamlet?”

“Whatever it was, go and fetch it. You will read it to me until I fall asleep.”

It is too dark for Ciel to see the raised eyebrow the demon gives him, but the Phantomhive butler is gone and back in a flash, a slim novel in his hands.

He sits down in a nearby chair and Ciel hears the turning of pages for a moment before Sebastian begins, his soothing, familiar voice settling over Ciel like a blanket.

A few minutes later, his brow furrows. “I don’t recall there being a ‘Prospero’ in Hamlet, Sebastian.” He accuses.

Sebastian pauses, glancing up with slight smile.

“Bocchan is correct. I took the liberty of selecting something a bit less…dark. Shall I continue, or would My Lord prefer I retrieve Hamlet?”

“It’s fine. Just…carry on.”

Ciel closes his eyes, and lets the words wash over him. The reading material is unimportant. Sebastian could read him the newspaper, or a recipe book, or something in a foreign language and it would still have the desired effect.

Idly he wonders how many languages Sebastian actually knows. He makes a mental note to ask in the morning. No doubt his voice would be soothing in any tongue…

The young Earl drifts off.

 

           

**~ Funeral ~**

The cooling wind catches at his clothes and hair as the young Earl makes his way through the graveyard. He wonders if he should change his mind and summon Sebastian. No-one would bother the carriage by the entrance, after all. Ciel would be surprised if he came across another living soul on a day like this. And it’s likely Sebastian could locate their headstones with his usual speediness.

“Young Earl.”

Ciel jumps at the unexpected sound, and turns an accusing glare on the culprit.

Undertaker stands before him, black robes and long silver hair dancing in the breeze. Gone is the Chesire-like grin, the drool, the hunched stance and the crooked hat. Ciel blinks at the change.

“Undertaker.” He acknowledges politely, though something about the man sets him on edge. He realises just how used to he’s gotten to the funeral director’s quirks. The absence of these defining mannerisms makes Ciel realise just how little he really knows the Undertaker.

The silver haired man quirks his lips slightly, as if he can read Ciel’s thoughts.

“This way, Earl.” He holds out a pale, clawed hand to Ciel.

The preteen makes his decision and joins the mortician, tensing only slightly as the man settles his arm around Ciel’s shoulder and steers him in another direction. Gone too is the man’s shuffling gait, and the boy lengthens his strides to match the elder’s pace.

“Just who are you, Undertaker?”

A low chuckle reaches his ears.

“I believe you answered your own question, little Lord.”

“You’re not just a mortician though.”

“And you’re not just an Earl, Earl.” Comes the cheeky response.

Ciel’s eyes widen as he notes the lack of an accent. Gone is the cockney drawl he is used to hearing. Aloud, he ponders this new puzzle.

“You’ve been an ally of my family for years. Though I have no way of confirming just how long, and I doubt you’d give me a straight answer if I asked. You act like a decrepit old man, but then manage to sneak up behind a person as easily as a spook. You’re extremely informed on most matters, though you part with this knowledge grudgingly. And you don’t accept coin payment.”

“Is that all you’ve come up with? Keep trying.” Is the mocking response.

Ciel scowls, but holds his tongue, knowing that he hasn’t come up with anything particularly ground-breaking. Anyone could make the same observations by becoming acquainted with the Undertaker.

They suddenly stop and Ciel realises they’ve arrived at his parent’s graves. The funeral had been arranged and held while the preteen had spent a month being imprisoned, tortured and abused. At first he’d wanted to die – to be reunited with his parents in heaven. But as time passed, he realised there was no such thing and instead he burned with the desire to see his captors suffer and be destroyed. And he’d formed a contract with a demon.

A hand pats his shoulder, reassuringly and Ciel’s eyes catch on the long black nails once more. A jolt hits him as the puzzle pieces fit together in an unexpected arrangement.

“Are you...like Sebastian?” he breaths.

He thinks he catches a flash of citrine eyes from beneath the long silver bangs. A small slowly stretches its way across the Undertaker’s face. He giggles at the notion.

“A butler? Really, young Earl! Can you see me polishing silver and folding handkerchiefs?”

He steps back, still giggling softly.

“Have a lovely visit with your parents, young Phantomhive.” He bows gracefully and Ciel is left alone with his thoughts.

 

 

**~ Puppy love ~**

Ciel feels like laughing himself sick. He’s sure it’s unbecoming behaviour of an Earl, though, so he refrains. The preteen can’t help the few strangled sounds that escape however and ruby eyes pin him in his seat.

“I’m glad my Lord finds this so amusing.” He murmurs, deftly avoiding another lick to the face. An eyebrow twitches.

“Don’t harm him, Sebastian.”

Pluto sits on the butler’s lap, naked in his human form and huffs up at him adoringly.

A flick of the wrist and the hellhound is unceremoniously dumped on the ground by their table.

“Sebastian, what did I just say?”

“You said not to harm him, Master. And I haven’t. He is perfectly alive. See?” the demon gestures down at him, lip curled slightly.

“Perhaps this is what comes of showing so much affection to that blasted cat?”

“I have no idea what my Lord means.” Sebastian sniffs.

Ciel rolls his eyes.

“Don’t think I don’t know about that little stray you feed in the gardens every night.” He scolds the man.

The demon stills, regarding his Master carefully for a moment. Expectantly.

Ciel realises he is waiting for an order. To be told to leave the stray alone.

“Sebastian…”

“Yes, my Lord?”

He can’t bring himself to do it.

“Bring me some tea.” He says instead.

Suddenly alone, Ciel wonders if he simply imagined the look of gratitude in the claret eyes.

 

 

**~ Gloves ~**

“I am not dancing with you.” Ciel declares, arms folded across his chest.

It’s a bad enough blow to his pride that he is currently enveloped in layers of pink and black silk and muslin. That most of his torso is being strangled by the lace and bone of a corset. That he is small enough to pull this stupid charade off. The wig itches.

“Scowling doesn’t become you, my Lady. You’ll scare the Viscount away with a face like that.” Sebastian chides him. “And it is every gently-born lady’s duty to take a turn about the dance floor. You can’t hover at my side all evening – it’s inappropriate.”

“I could always say I injured my ankle.”

“Nonsense.”

Ciel yelps as his arms are caught in a preternatural grip; his black-gloved hands are guided into position – the left placed on Sebastian’s shoulder and the right clasped gently in the demon’s left hand. He can feel the warmth of the butler’s hand even through the layers of satin on cotton.

He flushes scarlet.

“Just you wait, Sebastian.” He murmurs up at the other man. And then smiles prettily as he has been bid.


End file.
